<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>5 Times the Pendragons Were There For Arthur (+1 Time It Was Too Late) by horrorterroronesie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688099">5 Times the Pendragons Were There For Arthur (+1 Time It Was Too Late)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorterroronesie/pseuds/horrorterroronesie'>horrorterroronesie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Tragedy, Fluff, Multi, the range...</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:02:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24688099</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorterroronesie/pseuds/horrorterroronesie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from Camelot over the years. From the beginning to the end.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur &amp; Mordred (High Noon Over Camelot), Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot (High Noon Over Camelot)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Mechanisms But Without The Mechanisms (Summer 2020)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>5 Times the Pendragons Were There For Arthur (+1 Time It Was Too Late)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/silmarile/pseuds/silmarile">silmarile</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/mechs_albums_summer_2020">mechs_albums_summer_2020</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <strong>Prompt:</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot are three of the most badass people on a spaceship full of badasses, but their love for each other is what propels them. I would love to see something about how they support each other and help each other, whatever that means to you.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">1. a guard </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun had long since set, though the metal surroundings had not yet given up the last of their heat. Arthur sat leaned against the northmost building, watching the distance. No movement, as it had been for the last few hours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come to bed, Arthur.” Guinevere came up from behind him.<br/>He didn’t move but to snort out a laugh.</p>
<p>“Bed?”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s a bed <em> roll. </em> Got ‘bed’ in it, yeah?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. They might still come back.” He stared out over the desert wasteland. They had run the remainder of Sheriff Stone’s cronies out of town hours before. All that remained were those who had suffered under their rule, a handful of people at most. None capable of defending their town. Those would come, sure, but for now it was just the three of them.</p>
<p>“Which is why I’m here to take over on watch. You’ll be no use as a sheriff if you’re dead on your feet.” She sat next to him, wiping the sweat from her forehead even in the dead of night. “Don’t be an idiot, love.”</p>
<p>He’d have protested the accusation, but his eyes were drifting closed of their own accord.</p>
<p>“Fine, then. Take care.” He stood with difficulty- <em> god </em>, he really was tired- and set back out into the town.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="u">2. a wake</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The house was dark. Rooms lay untouched with white sheets draped over furniture. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even the air seemed as it was holding its breath. Hot and dry, though not as hot as it <em> had-would have-will have </em>gotten in the future. That was years ahead yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right now, it was Arthur, alone in mourning clothes, sitting quietly in his empty house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Art. Arthur.” </p>
<p>He didn’t answer. Simply sat, staring blankly through the window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Arthur, this isn’t <em> healthy.” </em> Lancelot took the risk of taking him by the arm.</p>
<p>“My child is <em> dead, </em> Lancelot. Don’t you dare give me shit about <em> healthy. </em>” He growled, ripping his arm from Lancelot’s grasp. </p>
<p>“Are you gonna join her, too? Have something to eat. Look, I brought bread.” He had. It had bits of fruit in it, even. “We’ll still be mourning tomorrow, Art, can’t you just let yourself have dinner?” </p>
<p>“Leave me alone.”</p>
<p>“Bread first.”</p>
<p>“Fuck <em> off. </em>”</p>
<p>“Bread.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lancelot tried not to take it personally. It wouldn’t help anything, no matter how much it hurt to see Arthur like this. The loss had hit them all, even though it was Arthur’s child. <em> Especially because </em> it was Arthur’s child. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, he proffered the bread like a lifeline.</p>
<p><br/>Maybe it was the bread itself. Maybe it was because both of them were far too tired for this. Whatever it was, it was enough for Arthur to relent and allow himself to be led away. A single dinner wouldn’t heal the pain, wouldn’t keep his heart from growing hard against the biting whips of rust, but… maybe it still meant something.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">3. a bedside</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Guinevere and Lancelot found him slumped on an uncomfortable chair in the house that passed for Camelot’s hospital. Beside him, lying in bed with his hair plastered to his face, the newest addition to Camelot. Mordred, his name was.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Wow, Arthur. You really like this kid.” Lancelot remarked, making the man jolt as he looked upwards.</p>
<p>“He’s got a good heart.” Arthur said simply, leaning back to rub a hand over his eyes. “Even if he thinks he’s invincible. ‘S a miracle he didn’t get sunstroke earlier, with the way he was gallivanting around.”</p>
<p>Guinevere nodded. </p>
<p>“He’s that pacifist, too?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“That’s an awful combination,” Lancelot commented. “But we ain’t here to talk about him.”<br/><br/></p>
<p>For the first time, Arthur looked up again and realised that the two of them were still standing, waiting for something.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“This is an intervention. You haven’t come out in days.” Guinevere said.</p>
<p>“Yes, because I’ve been dealing with everything from in here.”</p>
<p>“And you’re doing that because…?”</p>
<p>“What’s your <em> point? </em> ”<br/>“You’re really worried about this kid, and it’s hurting you. Sorry to have to say this, but you look like shit, Art.” Lancelot interjected before they could get heated.<br/><br/>“I’m fine. It’s him you should be worrying about.” He nodded at the boy.</p>
<p>“We can worry about<em> every </em> idiot in this room from somewhere more comfortable. Go get some rest.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The two of you are far too occupied with my sleep schedule, you know that?”<br/>“Oh, woe is us.”</p>
<p>“He might wake up soon.”<br/>“Or he might not. And if he wakes up to see you’ve gotten sick from worrying so much, whose fault is that gonna be?”<br/><br/></p>
<p>Arthur laughed, standing up with a creak of the chair and his back. </p>
<p>“Damn, that’s a fair point. You two are relentless, you know that?”</p>
<p>“I’d hope that’s why you love us.” Lancelot grinned.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">4. a turning point</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> THAT FIRE! THAT FIRE! THAT HELLFIRE! </em> <em> AT THE HEART OF THE INFERNO THAT WILL NEVER TIRE! I'VE SEEN THE END IS NIGH, AND DAMNATION’S NIGHER! OH, WE ALL FALL INTO THE FLAMES! </em></p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“I’d say it gets better the second time you see it, but I’d be lyin’.” Lancelot remarked from where he was leaned against the church’s back wall. Inside, the sermon continued in kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took a while for Arthur to gather his thoughts through the residue of fire and brimstone and Galahad’s laughter bouncing around in his skull. What the hell…?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The one person that survives and he does <em> that. </em> What the hell happened to him on that chair?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Whatever it is didn’t make him the stupid kinda crazy. He’s got some skill, there. Makes you wanna yell at the sun 'till it cools down." </p>
<p>"Mm." Arthur still looked perturbed. "Or it makes you want to be sick. Lancelot, don't you feel like something important is on the verge of happening?" A man like that could lead a revolution, a crusade, could doom them or save them all on a whim.</p>
<p>Lancelot sighed.</p>
<p>"Honestly? Yeah. But hell if I know what it is." He bumped Arthur’s shoulder with his own. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it. You know that, right?”</p>
<p>“I… yeah.”</p>
<p>“Come on, let me hear it!”</p>
<p>A grin played at the corners of his mouth. </p>
<p>“Yes, Lancelot, we’ll get through whatever happens with the power of positive thinking and love.” He leaned in to kiss him on the corner of the mouth.</p>
<p>“And also guns.”<br/>“And also guns.” Arthur allowed. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">5. a quest </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The dunes of rust stretched as far as the eye could see. In every direction.</p>
<p>Arthur walked a perimeter around their camp. The wound on his side twinged in discomfort and dull pain. He’d gotten caught on a piece of scrap during a gunfight, nothing more. And, okay, <em> perhaps </em> that piece of scrap was technically a bullet but it didn’t mean that everyone suddenly had to spend all their time taking care of him. He could put the work in, watch the distance and make sure nobody was coming their way as they neared the GRAIL.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bandages itched. He scratched them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Stop it.” Guinevere, coming up from behind him. “You’ll tear up your stitches.” </p>
<p>“Stop what?”<br/>“Walking around. <em> Scratching </em> at it. I didn’t even see you out here.”<br/>“It’s <em> fine. </em>”</p>
<p>“<em> Fine- </em> You don’t get to have <em> fine </em> right now. Either you’re injured or you’re not, you’re resting or you’re not, and I’ll give you one guess where you should be in there.”</p>
<p>Her tone brokered no complaint.</p>
<p>“... Resting?”<br/>“Damn right. Get Lance to check your dressing, I’m on watch for a few more hours.”</p>
<p>He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, walking back to the camp.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tomorrow, they would reach the location Galahad had provided for the GRAIL.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And after that...</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u">1. a king</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When you’re in a tragedy, you don’t see how it can be done differently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When you’re in an escape pod, hurtling at maximum velocity away from all you’ve ever known, as it seems to fly away from you just as fast, you have a lot of time to do so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps Arthur is not aware, as his life pod speeds away from everyone he’s loved. Perhaps he rests in this time, rests until he reaches some far-off planet or is picked up by a ship. Perhaps he can’t tell how time passes as he hurtles through the black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We can hope, can’t we?</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>